


that one where they get the permanent elixir (the first time)

by rei_c



Series: The Genderfluid(ity) 'Verse [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Family Secrets, Foreshadowing, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Gender or Sex Swap, M/M, POV Original Character, POV Second Person, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7273087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Natalie O'Shea comes from a very large, very talented family. It's not that she never expected to see hunters show up on her doorstep, more that she never expected to see both Dean <i>and</i> Sam Winchester show up on her doorstep, especially after she gave Dean that gender-changing elixir a few months ago.</p>
<p>(aka, the introduction of a new, non-canonical character to the GF series, who will show up occasionally from time to time [aka, don't get attached])</p>
            </blockquote>





	that one where they get the permanent elixir (the first time)

Honestly, if anyone had asked you if you'd ever see this particular hunter on your doorstep again, you probably would've laughed in their face -- especially with the younger Winchester standing right next to him. 

"Dean Winchester," you say. "Can't say I expected to see you back here. At least -- not like this." It takes him a second to understand; Sam gets it much faster. 

"What was the hex?" Sam asks. 

You laugh, step to the side to let them in. "Turnabout's always been fair play," you say, and close the door behind them. "Now. Why are you here? Need a little more magic? Run through the elixir that quickly?" 

They exchange looks and, to your surprise, it's Sam who answers. "I'd like something permanent," Sam says. 

Well. You can't say you'd been expecting _that_.

//

You get the two settled on the couch, go to the kitchen to get some tea and coffee -- more to get your mind in some kind of order. You've heard rumours, of course, rumours that Dean's been hunting with a female, rumours that he's been leaving his brother behind on some of the more recent hunts, rumours that he sold his soul to bring Sam back from the dead and this is some kind of way to get Sam used to the inevitable. 

The dealmaking's true enough; you saw the chains wrapped around his soul like some kind of rose-vine hooking thorns into the soft underbelly of his being and dragging it downwards, digging in deep and making it bleed. The rumours about the female, though -- apparently that's _Sam_. 

//

Tea, coffee, and cookies on a tray, you go back out to the living room. The Winchesters are where you left them, elbows tucked in, uncomfortable; they're clearly too cautious to have touched anything. They're sitting too close together for wariness or discomfort and you think about the rumours again, the ones that say Dean's been getting awfully close to that female hunter, that they've been seen making out in bars and fucking in hotel rooms and on jobs and in Dean's precious car. 

There have always been stories about the Winchester boys; some part of you wonders where the elixir comes in, how Dean feels about his -- sister, evidently, because Sam's right, the soul does not match the form. Sam Winchester, tall and lean and lethal, some part psychic, some part sworn to destiny, every single aspect furious and passionate and desperate, such a crucial part of so many plans -- so many plans that she's barely scratched the surface of, the poor child. 

Sam takes the tea and Dean, at Sam's silent urging, picks up the cup of coffee though he doesn't drink it. You sit down across from them, cross your legs, sip at the tea and watch as brother and sister try not to touch each other. They clearly don't like it. You wonder how they explain that while they work. 

"Can you do it?" Dean asks. 

You smile. "Yes," you says. 

Dean narrows his eyes, asks, " _Will_ you do it?" 

"I'd like to talk to your sister first," you say. They exchange looks; you add, "Alone, please. And don't worry, Dean. You have my assurances that I won't do anything to harm Sam. I simply want to ask her some questions." 

"Don't call him my --" Dean starts to say. Sam puts her hand on Dean's arm and he subsides -- glaring, but he stops, turns his eyes to Sam. They have a silent conversation; Dean soon sighs, looks back at you and says, "I'll wait in the kitchen?" 

You nod, watch as Dean sets the untouched coffee down on the table and heads for the kitchen. There's no door and you expect that he'll be standing just out of sight, eavesdropping, but it's more the illusion of privacy you want, rather than actual isolation. 

Sam sits back on the couch, sips her tea. The two of you are content to look at each other, take the measure of each other. It's Sam who -- it's not that she breaks, there's an acknowledgment between the two of you, something deeper, that you can't put into words and never thought you'd find in a hunter. She's certainly more Winchester than Campbell.

"If you wanted to ask me if this is my decision without Dean here, then yes, it is," Sam says. "If you're asking for payment, then tell me what you want and we'll go from there." 

"I come from a large family," you say. Sam blinks, clearly not expecting that. "Much like your mother's, I believe. But just like not every Campbell is born to be a hunter, some of us are born soulblind. Not many, enough that they're found a place if they stay but too few to ever feel really at home among the rest of us. I had a nephew. His mother was one who was born without my family's gift and she decided to leave. She led a normal life, married someone unconnected who never knew of us or what we are. My nephew -- he was a lot like you, Sam: born in a way where his form didn't match his heart. His mother was." You stop, shake your head. 

Sam's watching you with closed-off, shuttered eyes. "He was born female and his parents didn't understand. I'm guessing his mother didn't let him spend a lot of time with people who did. He -- you said 'had.' He killed himself?" 

"I'm not going to ask for payment," you say. "And I _will_ do this. I can see who you are inside, Sam Winchester, and it's not male. But it's going to hurt. A great deal. To do this without magic takes years of hormones and surgeries and transitioning. The spell will condense all of that down to a few minutes. If you want to go through with it, I'll do it for you and for my nephew, who never had the chance to ask." 

"You said that your family's like the Campbells," Sam says. "What do you know about our family? You knew who Dean was when he showed up here a few months ago? Know about us?" 

You smile, can't help it. The stories about these two have always praised Dean's ingenuity and Sam's ability to piece things together but you hadn't realised her intellect was this acute. If Sam is this quick then you hate to think what Dean would be able to do with the contents of your workroom, given free reign and the inclination. 

"The Campbells have always been of interest to us," you tell her. "The Winchesters as well, for vastly different reasons. Reasons which," you say, holding up a hand to stop Sam before she can ask, "I'm sure you'll discover in due time but which I'm not at liberty to disclose. You have your vows, Sam, and I have mine." You wait until she nods, reluctant, before you carry on. "From time to time, throughout the years, one of mine has aided one of yours, or vice versa. Nothing definitive, you understand." 

"Obviously, if there's anything we can do," Sam starts to say, though she trails off when you shake your head. You sip your tea, content to watch her puzzle through what you're trying to say, and hide your smile behind your mug when her eyes narrow and she tilts her head, looking at you as she might, you think, look at an interesting book. "Nothing definitive," she says. "Of course."

You set down your mug, stand up and brush the wrinkles out of your shirt. Dean steps into the kitchen doorway, one hand going to the gun tucked into the back of his jeans, under his coat. Sam looks over at him right as you say, "Oh, there's no need for that, Dean. I'm just going to go up and get the spell ready. You're welcome to stay if you'd like; it should only take half an hour or so." 

The two Winchesters hold another silent conversation and Sam's the one who answers, who turns and asks you, "When would be a good time to come back for it?" 

//

It's dusk when they return. You meet Sam on the front step; Dean is leaning against his car, arms folded across his chest, glare etched on his face. It makes you to smile to see it but the smile fades into something bittersweet when you look at Sam. There is so much coming for this woman. Your heart aches for her, for the destiny she has written all over her, for the plans that entities larger -- much larger -- than you or your family could ever hope to compete with are going to throw at her until she breaks. 

"Are you _sure_?" you ask, one last time. 

"Yes," she says. 

You nod and hand over a box: wooden, symbols and sigils carved and embossed into every side, a giant seal on the top. "The box is attuned to you and only you, Sam," you tell her. "It will take your blood, freely given, to open it. The spell's inside along with instructions. The box is a gift." You pause, wait until she's looking at you, box cradled tight to her chest. "I've put a phone number in there as well," you say, quiet now, so that Dean can't hear you. "If you can't keep him from Lilith, you should call that number."

She takes a step back, the soft and fearfully awestruck eyes she gave the box now turned on you, harsh and suspicious. "What do you know?"

"I know that Ruby's been lying to you," you say. "And that if you can't kill Lilith, and Dean goes to hell, there's a way you'll be able to drag him back out. You won't like it, I'll warn you now, and you can come back and curse me for it face-to-face if you'd like, but it _will_ work." 

Sam studies you; she has such beautiful eyes, this girl. "Nothing definitive," she says, half a question. 

You reach out, ignore Dean standing up, reaching for a weapon, to touch Sam's cheek. "Nothing definitive," you say. "For what it's worth, Sam, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, sweet girl." 

"Sorry for what?" she asks. 

You shake your head and go back inside. 

//

She uses the spell the next day. You're not sure where they are but, for five minutes, all you hear are her screams. 

When it's done, when you've stopped shaking and you've cleaned the blood from under your nose and out of your ears, you pick up the phone and dial a number. "It's done," you say. 

A throaty chuckle, and then -- nothing.


End file.
